


Nanda Parbat

by BethAlex



Series: Nanda Parbat [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethAlex/pseuds/BethAlex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Arrow and Malcolm Merlyn reacting to the events taking place in Nanda Parbat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> My story is becoming longer and longer (I blame Malcolm), so rather than keep everybody waiting, I've decided to break it up into chapters.
> 
> Chapter 1 deals with Oliver's reactions mostly, following chapters will switch back to Malcolm Merlyn.

Malcolm turned off the screen and checked the time. Was there any point in going back to bed? His aching back and burning feet said yes, but there was so much to be done before he could go find a new house… On the other hand, the new day would probably bring new dangers, and it would be best to be well rested before facing the world.

Following reason – and by no means his fatigue! - Malcolm went into the bedroom. This time, he locked the door leading to the bathroom. The chair went back into its usual spot, and he retrieved the knives from where they were still stuck in the wooden doorframe. Frowning, he inspected the damage. Two narrow slits in the wood, a finger’s width apart. Oliver was lucky to have ducked when he did. 

Malcolm went back to bed, pulling the covers over him. For long moments, he lay in the dark, eyes closed. He concentrated on the sounds of the house – a groan here, a creak there. Familiar. Non-Threatening. With a deep breath, Malcolm let himself slip into sleep.

When he woke up, sunlight filtered into the room, and yesterday’s bird repeated the performance of its lilting song. Malcolm stretched, paying close attention to various aches and pains. Nowhere near as bad as yesterday, his salve had done the trick. Satisfied, he stood in front of the open window for his morning workout. Today, he focused on endurance and strength. A hot shower soothed his muscles afterward.

Malcolm slipped back into the bedroom and sat on the floor. He worked the salve into his feet again, and then assumed his usual position for meditating. The Swastikasana helped him relax instantly, effortlessly merging mind and body into one. Breathing deeply, Malcolm closed his eyes and forgot the world. 

Oliver sat on Thea’s couch, gazing out of the window. What he saw was a scene from the past.

His eighth birthday. He had snuck into the hallway, though his mother had told him to wait in the garden with his guests. Lacking the elegance it would have after his mother employed an interior designer, the hallway was cluttered with a large sofa, a big table and two stuffed chairs. Oliver remembered that it had always felt crowded, but it had been cozy. Today, it was elegant – and unwelcoming. 

Little Oliver made a face upon spotting Uncle Malcolm and Auntie Becca cuddling on the couch together. They were always kissing and cuddling, not at all like all the other adults he knew. He didn’t mind, really, but their presence spoiled his plan of hiding behind that sofa. He fit himself into the space between the stairs and a tall vase filled with flowers. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long now before his dad finally came home!

Just then, his mother came sweeping down the stairs. Quickly, he ducked down into his niche.

“Let her breathe, Malcolm,” Moira’s voice was an odd mixture of indulgence and impatience. A tone Oliver knew only too well, because that’s how she usually spoke to him. Uncle Malcolm sighed, and Oliver grinned. Mum often made him feel like sighing, too!

“Moira. Fancy meeting you here,” Uncle Malcolm said, sounding amused. He usually did sound like that. Oliver wondered what it was like to have a life that seemed so much fun.

“Any idea how much longer he’ll be,” his mother asked.

“No,” Uncle Malcolm said calmly. “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid.”

“If he forgot Oliver’s birthday, I’ll kill him,” Moira grouched. “The kid will break his heart. He’s been going on and on about the present Robert promised him. What did he buy, do you know?”

“Again, no idea,” Uncle Malcolm said. Oliver got the impression that Uncle Malcolm wanted to get rid of his mother.

“Typical,” Moira grumbled. “All this fuss, and then it’ll probably be a huge disappointment.”

“Give Robert a chance,” Auntie Becca said. “He’s trying. You know he is.”

“Why can’t he be like you, Malcolm? You never forget a birthday, or an anniversary. You’d know what to get Ollie.”

“I’m organized,” Uncle Malcolm said. “Robert is not. But he’s nuts about his boy. He won’t have forgotten.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. After all, he forgot Christmas!”

Uncle Malcolm chuckled. “Stop it, Moira. He made up for it, didn’t he?”

“He made it up to me,” Moira sighed. “Nothing could console Oliver!”

“You should’ve done some shopping yourself, Moira. Don’t expect Robert to do it all,” Auntie Becca seemed impatient.

“Shush, girls, somebody will hear you,” Uncle Malcolm said, still amused. “Anyway, Oliver was fine once he realized that Father Christmas had left his presents at our place by mistake!”

“You saved the day,” Moira said. “It’s lucky Robert can always rely on you!”

“That’s what friends are for, Moira,” Uncle Malcolm said firmly. “Hadn’t you better go check on your guests?”

“You just want more alone-time,” Moira sighed. “Can’t you make out at home?”

Uncle Malcolm laughed. “Only when Tommy is asleep.”

Moira snorted. “Right. I’ll be in the garden. And if Robert gets here without presents, I’ll skin him alive.”

His thumb in his mouth, Oliver watched as she left the hallway. He had known that the thing about his Christmas presents had been a lie. He wasn’t stupid; he knew there was no Santa Claus! Mum and dad bought all the presents for you. Only, his father had forgotten. Oliver swallowed.

“Will he remember,” Auntie Becca asked.

“Doubtful,” Uncle Malcolm said quietly. “He has a lot on his plate right now.”

“Right,” Auntie Becca said. “You have a lot on your plate, but you remember.”

“Don’t start, Becks,” Uncle Malcolm said.

The door opened, and Oliver poked his head around the vase to see his father step into the hallway. His dad looked across the room at Uncle Malcolm and exhaled sharply.

“Shit. I knew there was something I’d forgotten,” Robert sighed.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that,” Auntie Becca sounded annoyed.

Uncle Malcolm threw his car keys across the room, and his father scrambled to catch them.

“Presents for your boy in the trunk,” Uncle Malcolm said.

Robert beamed at him. “You’re a true friend. What would I do without you!” He rushed back outside.

“Perish,” Auntie Becca muttered.

“Enough,” Uncle Malcolm said. “Cut him some slack.”

Uncle Malcolm crossed the floor and went outside. Moments later the two men returned with their arms full of brightly wrapped presents. Oliver almost jumped up – so many presents! And all for him! Then he remembered that Uncle Malcolm had bought them all, and his exuberance vanished.

“How did it go,” Uncle Malcolm asked.

“Badly, as I knew it would,” Robert sighed heavily.

“How much do you need,” Uncle Malcolm asked.

“Malcolm, I can’t ask you to help me again. I already owe you,” Robert said helplessly, carelessly dumping the presents on the couch next to Auntie Becca.

Oliver bit his thumb. How often did Uncle Malcolm do things for his dad?

“So you’ll owe me some more,” Uncle Malcolm shrugged. “Let’s meet in your office after you’ve given Oliver his presents, and I’ll write you a check.”

“Better go find my boy then,” Robert said and left. 

Auntie Becca got up and helped Uncle Malcolm tidy the gifts. “You could just burn the money, you know. You’ll never get it back.”

“Becks,” Uncle Malcolm sounded stern now. “I don’t get involved in your work; you keep your nose out of my business. I can afford to help my best friend, so I will. Not another word about it!”

Auntie Becca reached up and kissed Uncle Malcolm on the cheek. More kisses! Oliver shook his head. He didn’t want any kisses.

“I just know he’ll disappoint you. Again,” she said. “But okay, I’ll keep my mouth shut. As long as our Tommy doesn’t go without, it’s up to you what you do.”

“Tommy and you, you come first. Always. You should know that.” There was a bright smile on Uncle Malcolm’s face when he said that. 

Biting his thumb again, Oliver tried to remember when he had last seen his father smile like that. Or his mother, for that matter. And they never looked at one another the way Uncle Malcolm and Auntie Becca did.

Uncle Malcom held out his hand to Auntie Becca. “Come on, let’s find Tommy. Oliver won’t be far!”

They left hand-in-hand, and Oliver quickly dashed upstairs. He went into his bedroom and locked the door. Only now did he let himself cry.

 

A little while later, there was a cool voice saying, “Let me in, Oliver.”

It didn’t occur to Oliver to disobey that particular voice. He jumped up and ran to open the door. Uncle Malcolm raised an eyebrow at him, coming into his room and closing the door behind him.

“So, Oliver. How much did you hear?”

Oliver sniffed. “From when mum came downstairs.”

Uncle Malcolm frowned. “Bad boy, Oliver. What have I told you about eavesdropping?”

“That it’s bad form,” Oliver sniffed again.

“Exactly,” Uncle Malcolm said. “Don’t sniffle, Oliver. Here, use a handkerchief.”

How come Uncle Malcolm always had just what you needed? Whether it was a tissue or a Band-Aid, you could bet he’d have one for you. 

“Thank you,” Oliver mumbled, blowing his nose vigorously. Uncle Malcolm hated it when you sniveled.

“So, what else did I say about snooping?”

Oliver swallowed and rubbed his eyes. “That you end up hearing things you didn’t want to hear.” 

“That’s right,” Uncle Malcolm said. “So whose fault is it that you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, when you could be downstairs enjoying your presents?”

Daddy’s fault, Oliver wanted to say. But he knew full well that it would earn him a disapproving look from Uncle Malcolm, and he didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of one of those looks.

“My own fault,” Oliver ventured in a quiet voice, looking up at the man from under his lashes. Boy, Uncle Malcolm was tall! He could be a bit scary, really.

“Indeed,” Uncle Malcolm said with a sigh. He bent and put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. “We’re friends, right, Oliver?”

Oliver smiled. “Totally, Uncle Malcolm!”

Uncle Malcolm nodded. “Right then. As your friend, I have something to say to you. Come on, let’s sit down.”

They sat in the chairs next to the window, and Uncle Malcolm looked out into the garden for a long moment. Then he faced Oliver, his face very serious. Oliver swallowed again.

“I’m going to tell you something, Oliver, and I expect you to keep this conversation a secret. Can you do that?”

Oliver nodded readily. “Yes, sir. I can!”

“Oliver, your father loves you. He loves you very much, and he loves your mum. But right now, he is worried. Things are going wrong for him at work, and that’s all he can think about right now. That’s not an excuse for forgetting your birthday, but it’s an explanation. He’s very upset with himself for forgetting.”

Oliver sighed a little. Dad should feel lousy about forgetting, it was only right! 

“So, Oliver. Your dad had a really bad day today, and he’s been having bad days since way before Christmas,” Uncle Malcolm continued. “Do you love your dad?”

Oliver hesitated. Of course he loved his dad. You just did, didn’t you? But really, he saw a lot more of Uncle Malcolm and Auntie Becca than he did of his own parents these days.

“I guess,” he mumbled.

“Right then,” Uncle Malcolm smiled. “You can either stay here, spoiling the day for yourself, and for all your guests. Or you can come downstairs, pretending you weren’t in the hallway. You give your dad a big hug, open those presents and have fun. What do you think?”

“You won’t tell anybody that I was there,” Oliver asked eagerly.

“I won’t,” Uncle Malcolm said. “I promise I won’t.”

Oliver knew that Uncle Malcolm always kept his promises. Unlike his father. “What did you get me?”

Uncle Malcolm tilted his head. “You already opened our gift. I have no idea what your dad got you.”

Oliver bit his thumb, thinking hard. It would be difficult to pretend he wasn’t upset. But he didn’t fancy admitting he had been in the hallway, when he had been told to stay outside.

“Don’t bite your thumb, Oliver,” Uncle Malcolm said mildly. “It looks like you’re sucking it, and you’re way too old for that.”

Oliver put his hand down immediately. He didn’t want Uncle Malcolm to think he was a baby!

“I’m coming downstairs,” Oliver decided.

“Good,” Uncle Malcolm smiled happily. “Be nice to your dad, Oliver. And now go wash your face; we don’t want people to see you’ve been crying.”

Oliver jumped up, then hesitated. “Can I ask a question, Uncle Malcolm?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why do you care if my dad is unhappy?”

“He’s my best friend, Oliver. He’s a good man. And I know he’ll feel a whole lot better when you’re having a good time on your birthday.”

“What would you have done with the presents if dad had remembered? Given them to Tommy?”

“No, I would’ve taken them back to the shop. They’re your presents, not Tommy’s.”

Oliver nodded and dashed into the bathroom, splashing cold water into his face.

“Change your shirt,” Uncle Malcolm grinned. “You’re all wet.”

Oliver did as he was told, and they left the room together. Outside, they met Raisa. Uncle Malcolm handed her Oliver’s wet shirt. “Put this for the wash, please? We had a little accident.”

Raisa shook her head. “Cake or lemonade, Mr. Merlyn?”

“I have no idea,” Uncle Malcolm grinned, slipping her something small and green. Money, Oliver realized. “Something wet. Just don’t tell Mrs. Queen please.”

“You’re a bad influence, Mr. Merlyn!” But Raisa winked at Oliver, and his shirt vanished into her apron.

“So, Oliver. Does the birthday-boy want to slide down the banister?”

Oh, yes! Yes, he did! “But I’m not allowed,” Oliver gnawed his lip.

“Race ya,” Uncle Malcolm laughed. “Your mum can’t very well shout at me, can she?”

Oliver grinned and climbed up on the balustrade.

“Ready – steady – go!” Uncle Malcolm swung himself up on the banister and pushed off. Oliver followed suit, and somehow managed to get downstairs first, giggling all the way.

“Honestly, Malcolm,” his mother frowned. “What are you, twelve?” 

“Sorry, Moira. Couldn’t resist! I’ve been wanting to do that ever since you bought the house!” Uncle Malcolm laughed.

“And as for you, Oliver,” Moira began.

“Oh, don’t. Please? It’s his birthday, and I couldn’t very well slide down the banister on my own, now could I?” Uncle Malcolm pouted at his mum, and Oliver thought he looked like a little boy. Tommy looked just like that when he knew he’d been naughty!

Moira shook her head. “And we’re all waiting for you! Don’t you want to see what your dad got for you, Oliver?!”

“Daddy is here!” Oliver yelled, managing to sound excited. Uncle Malcolm gave him an approving smile.

“Happy birthday, son!” Beaming, his dad grabbed him and swung him up into the air. Oliver was a little offended. He was too old for this now! He was about to make a face when he saw Uncle Malcolm watching him. Sighing, he put his arms around his father’s neck instead.

 

Grinning, Oliver stretched. The presents had so been worth it! Best of all – which was a little mean, but then again, he had been only eight – Tommy was really jealous. Especially when Uncle Malcolm insisted that Tommy was too young to even try the electric sports car!

But Oliver also remembered other instances. Holidays that his father had clean forgotten about. Vacations that Uncle Malcolm took them on. Disneyland. The Smithsonian. Kennedy Space Center. Days on the beach, and lazy afternoons spent in the park. Going camping, and fishing. The zoo, and ice-cream parlors.

And then Auntie Becca had been murdered, and Uncle Malcolm had vanished for two long years. The man who returned home was a stranger. He was withdrawn, smiled rarely, and he never laughed. He was so intimidating that Oliver had begun to call him Mister Merlyn. But still, he had turned up for every game when he or Tommy played. He had been the one to help them pick out their prom suits, and the corsages for their dates. He had been the one they discussed their futures with. Oliver often felt his father didn’t care, but even with this stern, introverted man, he was certain that Malcolm did care. He didn’t understand why Tommy kept insisting that his father didn’t love him. To Oliver, it was plain that he did – he just had terrible trouble expressing that affection.

Oliver sighed. How could he convey to Thea what he felt? He remembered a very different Malcolm, and he wanted to bring him back somehow. With everything Malcolm had done for him in the past, and for his father, Oliver felt that he owed the man something.

“You can sigh,” Thea said coldly. “What are you even doing here?”

Oliver jumped up. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard her come in.

“Thea!”

“Don’t you Thea me, Oliver. You’re late. Too late. Felicity already told me that you rescued him. I wanted him dead, Oliver! I still do. He deserves to die for what he did to me,” Thea’s eyes filled with tears.

Oliver sighed. “Felicity had no right to tell you anything. I wanted to tell you in my own words, wanted to give you my reasons…”

“I don’t care about your reasons, Oliver,” Thea shouted. “Just as you didn’t care about mine!”

“They tortured him,” Oliver tried. “They had him standing on burning coals.”

“Won’t have bothered him one bit. Suffering is optional, after all,” Thea spat.

“You’re so much like mother,” Oliver murmured. “You know how to kill a man. Why didn’t you? That way, you could’ve made sure he was dead.”

“Don’t you see? Death is too good for him. I wanted him to suffer first, and I don’t have the stomach to torture somebody.”

Oliver swallowed drily. What had become of his sweet little sister? This wasn’t just Malcolm’s fault. Nobody gained that much influence over somebody that quickly. Not even Malcolm Merlyn could’ve turned Thea’s head in six short months.

“Don’t look at me like that. He made me kill Sara. The woman you loved. Don’t you even care?”

“I have seen so many deaths, Thea. Of course I care. But I also know that people usually have a reason for what they do.”

“Oh. Right. That makes me feel better. My bloody father had a reason. Of course he had a reason! He wanted you dead; he made you fight Ra’s al Ghul!” Thea shook her head. “How can you say you understand him, Oliver?”

“I’m not saying that I do understand Malcolm, Thea. I’m just saying that…”

“That now you want to be friends. After all, he can train you. Train you to do what, exactly? You’re my brother, Oliver! You’re not a soldier; you’re not supposed to be a vigilante. Now that mom is dead, we need to build a life. How do you intend to do that? We’ve lost Queen Consolidated and if we don’t work together, we’ll lose the club. We need to make decisions here. Instead, you act like Malcolm was your father, not mine. You’ve always loved the man more than you loved our dad. Mom thought so too.”

Oliver sighed. He hadn’t been aware that his mother knew him so well. “I could tell you things about that. But not right now. You’re upset, you’re angry. And Felicity has filled your head with nonsense. I should’ve come here first.”

“Yeah, but you had to go make sure that my dear father wasn’t on death’s door. Didn’t he tell you that pain is inevitable? Give him a few weeks, he’ll recover. Be as good as new, and back to annoying you as the Dark Archer. Maybe you can kill him for real this time!”

“Listen to yourself, Thea. Is that really you? You’re so cold, so vindictive. That’s not the sister I remember,” Oliver said sadly.

“The sister you remember died on the Queen’s Gambit with you and dad! And that was his fault as well. Everything bad in my life, in both our lives, stems from the connection to Malcolm Merlyn. And now you want to be friends with that freak! Felicity is right; he probably slipped you some drug. Even though Dig says he never left you alone with him for one second. But you were alone with him for hours last night, weren’t you!”

Oliver shook his head. “There’s no point in having this conversation, Thea. Calm down, and if you want to hear why I rescued your father – give me a call.”

“I want nothing else to do with him. I want to sever all ties. I don’t care why you went after him. Don’t mention him to me, not ever again.”

So when are you going to move out of this apartment he paid for, and when are you going to hand over the club? Oliver wanted to ask, but he knew that his stubborn sister would give up her home and her work if he put that idea into her head. Malcolm would probably not appreciate that one bit – after all, he had been trying to give Thea some security. 

Sighing, Oliver got to his feet. He kissed Thea on the forehead. 

“You’re my sister, and I will always love you. Remember that,” Oliver murmured, shutting the door behind him.

 

Felicity! How dare she! This was none of her business, and she had betrayed his trust once again. Another dispute, just what he needed. He wasn’t in the mood for it, but what other choice did he have?

Slowly, with a heavy heart, Oliver made his way into the Arrowcave. It was the place he felt most secure, most at home. But today, he didn’t even want to walk through the door. Sighing, he silently slipped down the stairs.

Felicity and Laurel were standing next to the computer screens, Roy sat on a chair facing away from them with his nose in a book, and Diggle stood to one side, arms folded. Clearly, the team was at odds.

Felicity pointed. “See? That’s him.”

“That’s who,” Oliver asked, suddenly alert. “What’s going on, who are we watching?”

“Why, Merlyn of course,” Felicity said, pre-occupied.

Oliver frowned, studying the screen. He couldn’t see Malcolm anywhere.

“I don’t think that’s Merlyn,” Diggle said, staring at the screen. “What gives you that idea, Felicity?”

Felicity shrugged. “Know thine enemy. I spent a few hours last night studying previous behavior. Stands to reason that he won’t have changed his M.O., not after all this time. So, money transferred, a hired car, and an upper class real estate agent. Merlyn is looking for a new lair.”

“I don’t see him,” Oliver shook his head. “Where is he?”

Felicity smiled brightly. “He’s pretty good, isn’t he? Only, we’re better. There, that guy in the gray suit.”

Oliver snorted a laugh. “No way, that’s not Malcolm.”

“A disguise, and a fairly good one,” Felicity shrugged. “Everything else fits, though. Trust me, that’s our man.”

“It’s not. Malcolm wouldn’t be seen dead in a suit that needs cleaning,” Oliver said. “Also, that man has a bit of a hunchback. He’s blond. Can you give us a close-up?”

“Sure,” Felicity said, bringing the man into focus and zooming in on his features.

“No,” Oliver stated categorically. “That’s not Malcolm. Even if he did color his hair, he couldn’t grow a bushy mustache overnight. And that skin! Malcolm has skin like a baby, and that guy has acne scars running down both his cheeks. The face is the wrong shape and… wait, does he have brown eyes? Malcolm’s eyes are blue.”

“Had a close look, did you,” Laurel said spitefully.

Ah. Felicity had already gotten to her as well. Peachy.

“I’ve known Malcolm all my life,” Oliver said mildly, keeping his anger in check.

“Details,” Felicity grumbled. “Contact lenses, make-up, a fake beard – all perfectly doable.”

Oliver studied the picture once more. A gray suit that had dirt smudged on the legs of the trousers, maybe from a car door. Brown loafers, they didn’t go with the suit at all. A blue shirt with a black tie, the knot untidy. 

Oliver remembered Malcolm determinedly drilling dress-codes and color-coordination into them. No tie without a Windsor-knot, or a Pratt. Tommy had begun to call his father “the well-dressed man” because of all that. Malcolm actually knew 85 ways to tie a tie, but had given up after teaching them what he called the thirteen “aesthetic” knots. How he and Tommy had complained and groaned about it all! And now, standing in the Arrowcave, Oliver felt a sudden sharp yearning for those days of carefree fun and youthful innocence.

Wire-rimmed glasses, scruffy blond hair with the pink scalp showing. The man wore yellow leather gloves, and carried a walking stick with a silver dog’s head for a handle – Oliver was certain that Malcolm would have considered that outfit beyond tasteless. 

“I think I’ll pop by this afternoon and see whether Malcolm managed to grow back his hair,” Oliver wrinkled his nose. “Coloring your hair is one thing, but that guy is going bald, and the hair is ultra-short.”

He took yet another close look, and then grinned. “Right, Felicity. You really believe Malcolm can do magic, then?”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “What? Of course not, that’s just plain stupid. Why would you say something like that?”

“Look at the man: he’s standing right next to that newspaper rack. How tall would you say he is?”

Felicity glanced at the screen. “About 5.8, I’d say.”

Oliver nodded. “John. How tall is Malcolm?”

“At least 6 feet,” Roy said, putting his book down and turning around. “Or taller. I told you it wasn’t Merlyn, Felicity.”

“Six feet,” Diggle said. “He seems taller because he’s got such good posture.”

Oliver grinned. “So unless Malcolm can do magic and shrink himself, that’s not him.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Felicity muttered. “Lots of things are possible with the right technology these days.”

Oliver tried not to frown. He knew Queen Consolidated had made advances in nanotechnology. And now Ray Palmer was reaping the benefits. Was it possible to use the technology to change your size? He’d need to find out, and he couldn’t ask Felicity. He would have to think about that.

“I think he’d go for invisible, not for being the incredible shrinking man,” Roy snorted.

“Turn it off,” Oliver said. “I told you I don’t want you to spy on Malcolm anymore.”

Laurel shook her head. “What did he do to you, Oliver? Hypnotize you or something? We need to keep an eye on him. I think you’re mad to think you can trust him.”

Oliver sighed. “Trust goes both ways. And once he finds out that we’ve been nosing into his business, that trust will go out of the window.”

“Why can’t you trust my judgment for once, Oliver?” Felicity looked at him pleadingly. “I’ll make certain he won’t find out about this, I promise. Let’s make sure…”

“Make sure of what? If he wants to buy a house, he can. It’s his money,” Oliver interrupted. “I expect you to do as I tell you, Felicity. Don’t let me catch you snooping on Malcolm again. He accepted the hand of friendship in good faith.”

“Count your fingers,” Felicity said sharply. “If he took your hand, then it’s because you’re holding something he wants. Dig and Roy and Laurel, they all agree with me.”

“Actually, I don’t,” Roy shook his head. “I already told you. I think we should wait and see. If Oliver thinks Merlyn will work with us, then that’s an enormous asset, and one I’d like to take advantage of. That man can do things with a bow and arrow that I can only dream about.”

Diggle sighed. “And I don’t trust Merlyn any further than I can throw him, but I do have confidence in Oliver. If he trusts Merlyn, that’s good enough for me.”

Laurel stared at the men. “What’s the matter with you guys? Why do you insist on having that snake work with us?”

“Haven’t we got enough enemies already,” Oliver asked tiredly. “Ra’s, Slade. All those creeps in the Glades. If we can turn but one of them into a friend, isn’t that a good thing?”

“I’d rather befriend Wilson than Merlyn,” Laurel frowned. “And wasn’t it Merlyn who freed him? How is that friendly?”

“Things have changed, Laurel. And Roy is right – with Malcolm helping us, we’re twice as strong.”

“He’s just one man,” Laurel shook her head. “I think you overestimate him.”

“No,” Diggle said. “I’ve seen him fight. Oliver is right; Merlyn’s practically a one-man army. Much better to have him fighting with us, or for us – I don’t want him on the other side.”

“Form a fan-club, why don’t you,” Felicity said furiously. “You’re all blindsided by his brilliant fighting techniques. What if he turns on you?”

“What if he doesn’t,” Oliver said. “If he meant it?”

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity sighed. “As if. That man always has his own agenda. And even if he did help us. He still killed those 503 people in the Glades. Including his own son. His son, Oliver! If he can do that, what can he do to you?”

“I think you might want to take the rest of the day off,” Oliver sighed. He remembered the people he himself had killed. Too many people. And Malcolm had never intended for Tommy to be even near the Glades. “I’m through discussing this.”

Felicity gave him a hard stare, then grabbed her coat and her purse. “Whatever, Oliver. Maybe I’ll go help somebody who actually appreciates my input.”

When the door shut behind her, Laurel spoke up. “Divide and conquer. I think that’s just what Merlyn intended – he knew his offer would put the cat among the pigeons.”

“It was my offer, actually,” Oliver sighed. “But he came here with an offer of help, and the team turned him down. If there’s a next time, I expect you all to work with him. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear,” Diggle shrugged. “We’ll have to see whether it can actually be done.”

Laurel frowned. “That’s ridiculous. He’ll take over, Oliver. You know he will.”

“That’s better than Felicity taking over. She’s so worried about keeping everybody safe that the team doesn’t get anything done. And if you want to join us, you’d better shape up. Merlyn confronting you with his arms behind his back is a bit embarrassing for you, really.”

“Why thanks, Oliver,” Laurel put her hands on her hips. “Let me tell you something…”

“He probably would, sweetheart,” Nyssa’s voice said from behind Oliver. “But I don’t really want to have to listen to your grievances.”

Before Oliver could even react, the Arrowcave filled with Assassins. Very quickly, Diggle, Roy and Laurel were defeated and tied up. Oliver might have made it out, but he wouldn’t leave his team behind. He only just managed to slip his cell into Diggle’s hand before Nyssa grabbed him. 

“Don’t fight me, Oliver. Come quietly, and we won’t harm your friends.”

“Where are you taking me, and what do you want,” Oliver tried.

Nyssa laughed. “Yeah, right. Let your team figure it out. It’ll only take them a few hours to free themselves. Meanwhile, we can have a little fun. Nanda Parbat fun.”


	2. Friend or Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Merlyn and Team Arrow run into the League of Assassins. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, publishing later than expected. First my poor beta dieAstra suffered from a severe case of spring fatigue, and then I suffered a major bout of stupidity - I was convinced I had uploaded the chapter already. *sigh* Sorry about that, and also sorry that this will have to hold you until I get back from England. I'm off to attend MD con, and then later three John Barrowman concerts. I'm beyond excited! :-) 
> 
> Once I get back, I can put the finishing touches to the next chapter and hopefully give you something to read my mid-June.
> 
> Look after yourselves, everybody! See you in June (or maybe at the con?)!

The phone rang. It was the ringtone he had assigned only yesterday. Sooner than he had expected. He had hoped to have a few hours to relax after the morning’s exertions. Unwillingly, suppressing his grunt, Malcolm forced his protesting body into a sitting position and reached for his cell. 

“Oliver.”

Silence. Wasn’t Oliver a little old for phone pranks? Malcolm frowned.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the adage that time is money. This is getting to be an expensive call,” Malcolm said sternly.

“Um. Sorry. I’m not Oliver.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. This was bad. Or maybe it was good. But either way, he was certain that he could turn the situation into an advantage.

“John. You’re stating the obvious. What happened?”

“What makes you think something happened,” Diggle said defensively.

Malcolm almost laughed out loud. He said nothing, because he knew his amusement would be heard in his voice. Instead, he reached for his laptop and brought up the view of the Arrowcave. His smile widened into an evil grin at the sight of Oliver’s friends, neatly tied up. They were not considered worthy opponents, then.

“John. You’ve got Oliver’s phone. Tell me.”

“They kidnapped him,” Diggle said reluctantly.

No need to ask who “they” were. He knew. The League. Nyssa. Silly girl.

“When,” Malcolm asked, already hitting keys on his computer to trace Nyssa. 

Would Felicity be flattered or angry if she ever found out he had used her program as the substructure for his own version? After all, she had used it on him, so Malcolm felt he had a right to do with it as he pleased. His program was different from Felicity’s; he had found a way to imbed it in Nyssa’s bloodstream. It would cease to exist if she died. He didn’t want anybody to trace that program back to him, after all.

“About ten minutes ago,” Diggle admitted.

“Ten minutes?” Malcolm shook his head. “What have you been doing all this time? What does your resident computer genius say about their route?”

Of course, he knew full well. How amusing to see the looks of fury and embarrassment Diggle and Roy exchanged! If they knew he could see them… Malcolm smirked. Where was Felicity, though?

“Felicity isn’t here,” Diggle said. He was clearly about to leave it at that when Roy cut in.

“Let’s be honest here. If Mr. Merlyn is to help us he has to have all the information,” Roy frowned. “She and Oliver had words; she left and isn’t answering her phone.”

“Because she thinks you’re Oliver, John,” Malcolm couldn’t resist the dig. Mr. Merlyn now, was it? They were already feeling the pressure. Or at least, Roy was.

Diggle rolled his eyes. “Can we cut to the chase here?”

“Certainly,” Malcolm said pleasantly. “I’ll find Oliver and phone you with the address. Meet me there.”

“We can’t,” Diggle said through gritted teeth. 

“Can’t or won’t,” Malcolm asked. “Are you afraid of the League?”

“Can’t,” Diggle snarled. “We’re not afraid. We’re …” He broke off.

Following Nyssa’s progress with his eyes, Malcolm began to gear up. Years of habit allowed him to get ready for battle with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of efficiency. 

Roy sighed heavily. “They’ve got us bound.”

“Were you going to mention that anytime soon, John? It’s sort of pertinent, don’t you think?”

“We tried, but we can’t get free,” Diggle admitted grudgingly.

“I’ll phone the yellow bird and get her to help you,” Malcolm grinned. “She should be able to manage that. Just about.”

“If I’m the bird you’re talking about, I’m right here,” Laurel spat.

“Laurel. Tied up in this as well, are you?” Malcolm rather enjoyed the looks of helpless fury he witnessed. A game of cat and mouse could be very enjoyable. If you were the cat.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come in and help us,” Diggle sounded disgruntled.

“No,” Malcolm said. “I’d walk right into the League. They’ll be watching.”

“Don’t fancy another firewalk,” Laurel said nastily.

“Illogical, Laurel,” Malcolm replied, allowing his amusement to show this time. “How are you going to free Oliver if they kill me before I can even get to you?”

“Guys,” Roy shook his head at his companions. “I’m sorry, Mr. Merlyn. Tempers around here are a little frayed. What do you suggest?”

Malcolm hit a few keys, studying the screen with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll tell Thea,” he said. “But John – only you and Roy will come to help me with Oliver. Leave the ladies behind.”

“I can fight, and so can Thea,” Laurel muttered.

“You call that fighting? You’re an accident waiting to happen, and will be in our way. Thea can hold her own for a short while, but that’s it. None of you are a match for a member of the League. So, when you men get there, you’ll distract them and I go in to get Oliver out.”

“Or you come back and tell us they killed Oliver,” Laurel said. 

“They won’t kill him just yet, they’re baiting you. Even you must be able to see that,” Malcolm said, allowing his boredom with the conversation to show. He used Oliver’s IP-address to send a quick text to Thea – “Roy. Arrowcave. Captive. Caution!”

“Nyssa said they could have fun,” Diggle explained. “Nanda Parbat fun.”

“As I said, it’s a lure. If they want to torture him, they’ll take him out of Starling City.” Malcolm sent another text to one of his operatives, telling her to keep all planes on the ground until further notice.

“They had us right here,” Roy said pensively. “Why bait us? They could’ve just grabbed us.”

“They don’t want you,” Malcolm said, reining in his impatience. Did they really think they were in any way important to the League?

“Whom do they want,” Diggle asked, ineffectively tugging at his restraints.

Malcolm took a closer look. Just as he had thought – the more you struggled, the more the bonds tightened. He shrugged. Thea would have to deal with that.

“Thea,” Roy realized. “Right, Mr. Merlyn? It’s Thea they want?”

“Yes,” Malcolm confirmed. “Another reason to leave her behind.”

“Oh no,” Thea suddenly appeared next to Roy. Malcolm was satisfied that she remembered her training. By the startled looks they all gave her, nobody had noticed her before she spoke. “I’m coming with.”

“You’ll walk into their trap,” Malcolm shook his head as she tried to undo the knots on Roy’s fetters. Use a knife and be done with it, he wanted to say – but of course, he didn’t. “Stay where you are. Can you operate the computers?”

“I’m no Felicity,” Thea said, finally grabbing a knife from Oliver’s cache. “And I’m not staying here if they’ve got my brother.”

“You will get caught; they’ll have you and Oliver. What kind of plan is that?”

“He’s right,” Diggle said. “Much as I hate to admit it, it’s better if you stay here.”

“Yeah,” Thea snorted. “Because I’d be as safe as you lot were, right?”

“You need to secure the place, obviously,” Malcolm rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, Daddy. I’m not going to be your good little girl,” Thea frowned. “Hold still, Roy, I don’t want to cut you. I’m coming with you, and that’s that.”

“If she goes, I go,” Laurel decided.

Malcolm smirked. These people were so predictable! The more he insisted the girls stay behind, the more they wanted to be involved. Just as he had thought.

Nyssa had reached her destination. Another predictable person. Then again, she needed to make it easy for Thea to find her.

All this was playing out as he had intended. Satisfied, Malcolm took a deep breath.

On screen, Thea had finally freed Roy and begun to cut away at Laurel’s restraints, while Roy was working on Diggle’s.

Checking again, Malcolm saw that Felicity was … busy … with Ray. They’d stay out of his hair for a while yet. Quickly, he blocked the team’s phones from reaching Felicity on any of her communication devices.

“We have no time to discuss further. If you girls want to be foolish, do come along. Roy, you’ll babysit Thea, Diggle, you’re with Laurel. If anything happens to either of them, you’ll have to answer to Oliver,” Malcolm smirked at their frowns about his choice of words. 

“I’m sending you the address along with GPS coordinates. Meet me there. Wait outside. You’re not to go in on your own under any circumstances. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” Diggle said grouchily. 

Malcolm watched the looks they exchanged and raised an eyebrow. He knew mutiny when he saw it. They were gung-ho on entering that building without him. Well, good luck with that. He sent one last text, and then shut down the laptop.

Stepping into his garage, Malcolm gave his bikes a quick glance. Which one to take? The Zero DS? Silent, which was good. The Harley? Too noisy, by far. Only a good idea if you went in guns blazing – which he of course had no intention of doing. The black Kawasaki Ninja, his favorite? None of them were a good idea, Malcolm realized. Oliver might not be able to ride a motorcycle, depending on what Nyssa had done to him. He was quite certain Nyssa would not do physical damage, just yet. Keeping Oliver in suspense was much more exciting. Still, there was a variety of drugs she could give him, none of them very comfortable.

Better take a non-descript car and make sure to change vehicles on the way back. The League would find him eventually anyway, but it bought him a little time.

Malcolm secured bow and arrows in the trunk of a nondescript compact car and slid into the driver’s seat, ignoring the painful twinge in his shoulders and the discomfort in his back.

 

Oliver sighed, and then bit his tongue. If one Malcolm Merlyn could stand barefoot on burning coals without a sound, he sure as hell could bear his minor discomfort. Yeah, right. He hated dangling from a ceiling. His shoulders hurt, his arms felt like they belonged to somebody else, and his vision was a bit blurred ever since Nyssa had injected him with what she called “a fun experience for all”. He was quite certain that “all” didn’t include him, because he wasn’t having any fun. 

Whatever it was, it had knocked him out long enough so that the League had had time to tie him up like this without giving him a chance to defend himself. And where the hell were they now? Nanda Parbat? Surely not. That was traffic he could hear, right? No traffic in Nanda Parbat. Still in Starling City then?

At least Malcolm had talked to him when he had him strung up in his lair. Nyssa wasn’t paying any attention to him; she was standing by a small window keeping a lookout. But who was she looking for? His team was neatly tied up in the Arrowcave, Thea and Felicity didn’t even know he had been kidnapped. That left Malcolm, who also didn’t know – unless Dig had managed to call him. But would Malcolm come for him? Walk into a trap set by the League, yet again? Nyssa wanted revenge for her father. Would Malcolm oblige her? Hardly likely.

Oliver did his best to calm his breathing. He was scared. Absolutely terrified. He tried to remember when he had last felt like this, but couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such fear combined with utter hopelessness.

Nyssa turned and smirked at him. “Don’t bother, Oliver. You can’t fight this. I’ve given you a hallucinogenic drug. Sent you on a little trip. Not much fun for you, maybe, but a hell of a laugh for us. As long as it lasts, that is.”

“How long does it last,” Oliver asked, wondering whether the shadows he kept noticing from the corner of his eye were part of the hallucinations. Or was somebody moving, always just out of sight?

“Different for everybody,” Nyssa replied, unconcerned. She turned back to her window. “Takes her sweet time, your sister.”

“Thea,” Oliver was baffled. “What do you want with Thea?”

Nyssa sniggered. “Kill her, what else.”

Oliver swallowed. “Leave her out of this. Thea has done nothing to you.”

“No, she hasn’t. Not her fault the Magician forced her to murder Sara. This isn’t about Thea.”

“Thea doesn’t even know where we are,” Oliver said, hoping for more information. Not that he knew what he would do with it if he got it, but still.

“I made sure you had time to give Diggle your phone,” Nyssa grinned up at him. She was quite pretty really, Oliver thought distractedly. In a slightly insane sort of way. “He’ll call your dear sis, I’m sure of it.”

Right. They didn’t know about his pact with Merlyn, then. Good. Brilliant. Now he had to hope that Diggle had indeed called Malcolm, and not Thea. Even though, Thea was closer to the Arrowcave… what would the team do, get free and follow him here? He hoped not, he knew they were no match for the League.

“So Thea will free them,” Oliver remembered not to shrug – that would really hurt like hell! He remembered from previous occasions. “How will they find you?”

Nyssa chortled. “We left telltale traces. Give her some credit. She’ll turn up, hopefully with your team in tow.”

“You want to kill them? All of them?” Oliver felt cold sweat trickle down his spine.

“Oh no,” Nyssa said reassuringly. “You and Diggle will live. You get to watch. We’ll have to kill Lyla and the kid, of course.”

What? Why would anybody want to kill a baby? “Why kill the child,” Oliver asked hoarsely. He needed to warn them! But how? Would Lyla manage to defend herself and the child?

Nyssa gave him a hard stare. “I want you to feel like I do. You, Diggle and Al Sa-her - you worked together to kill my father. Now, it’s your turn to lose those you love.”

“Diggle was just piloting the helicopter,” Oliver said desperately. “Leave him out of this.”

Nyssa laughed, it was a sound without joy. “You work so hard to protect your friends. They are your greatest weakness. In the League, we have no lovers, no friends, and no family. We can’t be blackmailed.”

There was something wrong with that statement, but Oliver couldn’t think straight. What was that drug? 

“Sara wouldn’t want you to kill in cold blood.” It was all he could come up with, and he was already certain it wasn’t good enough. 

“Bullshit,” Nyssa spat. “Do you even know how many people Sara killed? In cold blood. Without hesitation, just because my father ordered it. And anyway, is killing better if it’s personal?”

“Killing is just wrong,” Oliver sighed.

“Yes. And now it’s your turn to find out just how wrong,” Nyssa said, turning back to her window.

 

Arriving at his destination, Malcolm left the car in an innocuous spot and cautiously circled the building, instinctively avoiding the windows. He killed two patrolling assassins outside before warily venturing inside. A huge warehouse stocked with wood, offering plenty of places to hide in. Quickly and soundlessly, he dispatched three more guards. 

He spotted Oliver hanging from a beam in the ceiling; the boy was making a habit of it. Malcolm smirked. He liked the sight. 

He couldn’t get to Oliver just yet; he needed to find the fourth guard, first. Nyssa had the operation set up like an exercise. Very helpful. Quite stupid.

Malcolm slipped deeper into the shadows, acknowledging that at least this one guard had had the sense to hide. Still, he could smell sweat. People forgot to take these things into account. He didn’t. His clothes always smelled of the place he intended to infiltrate. Right now, he smelled of lumberyard.

Stealthily, Malcolm approached his target. His knife was already poised to strike when the sentry turned around, eyes wide. Damn, he knew these eyes.

Apple-boy. The recollection surfaced unbidden. The cell at Nanda Parbat. The filth! Smell of burning coals and burning flesh. Raw feet, his bloodied back throbbing to the memory of fifty lashes with a quirt. The minor nuisance of various cuts and bruises. 

A guard arrived with a tray. Malcolm expected the same unappealing tepid water he had been given previously, the same disgusting food. “Poisoned,” a soft warning accompanied the dish. “Clean,” the water the guard provided was actually sparkling this time, and wonderfully cool. Straight from the well.

The same voice warned him not to touch the food for two days running, and he had begun to wonder whether to actually heed the warning. Maybe this was another game the guards played with him? He could not afford to forego food for long, not while his body required sustenance to heal the almost daily damage. The third day, the same warning. But this time, the guard had slipped him an apple. Fruit were a rare treat, most of the time the League lived on cured meat and grains, things that were easy to store up here in the eternal cold of Nanda Parbat. His mouth already watering, Malcolm had hesitated. Why would anybody give up a whole apple for a prisoner? 

“Why?” 

A shrug. “You need your strength. I want you to get out of here and take your revenge.”

A week later, Oliver had turned up; and he had not seen those eyes again until now.

“Web.” One word, just a breath of air. Another step away, and Malcolm would not have heard him. The word saved his life. The decision immediate, Malcolm grabbed him and forced the guard out of the building. It was a risk, but he came willingly, avoiding any sound.

Safely out of Nyssa’s earshot, but close enough to hear any sort of commotion inside, Malcolm stopped and studied the other man. Man? Boy. Not even twenty yet, he was certain. “Why?”

A gulp. Ah, so he did make Al Zalam nervous. Good.

“I want Al Sa-her to triumph.”

Interesting. Keeping his face impassive, Malcolm asked, “What’s it to you?”

“May I move one hand?”

Malcolm suppressed his smirk. Yes, he had noticed that the boy had been very still, not making any unnecessary movements. “You may.”

Lowering his eyes, the boy removed his hood. The gesture revealed an ugly red scar circling his throat. 

Malcolm understood. “They brought you back.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to avenge you?” Quite presumptuous.

“No. I would not expect Al Sa-her to waste a thought on me. But if Al Sa-her wins, they die. That will give me peace of mind.”

“They might be brought back.”

The boy tilted his head. “They tried. Ra’s tried twice to come back, but he stayed dead. Al Sa-her did too much damage.”

They tried? They had managed to find Ra’s already? Damn. One more reason to watch his back. “Who says I did it?”

“We saw you. Like an eagle, you flew outside the helicopter; forcing Ra’s to choose death.”

Malcolm’s mind raced. He had operatives, but he didn’t want any of these people in the house while he slept. This kid was trained by the League. The perfect bodyguard. A little nervous maybe, but unafraid. Far too kind, but he could change that. Loyalty could be bought, to a certain extent. A nice healthy dose of hero-worship was so much better. Was it worth it? What did he have to lose? He’d end up grappling with the League anyway, whether this kid betrayed him or not.

Malcolm took another moment to study the youngster. His decision was made when those eyes met his. They reminded him of … no, he thought. Don’t go there. Don’t dwell on the past. Concentrate on the here and now.

“If I told you to run, where would you go,” Malcolm asked.

“Wherever Al Sa-her sends me,” came the meek reply. “But I would rather work for you.”

“Do you drive?”

“I stole cars for a living when the League recruited me.”

Malcolm nodded at his vehicle. “Get into the driver’s seat. As soon as I’m in the car, floor it. Understood?”

“Yes. I will not disappoint.”

“You’d better not. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one yet. My parents called me Brian.”

“Brian. Al Zalam. At least you knew enough to hide. The others didn’t.”

A wide smile, and Malcolm almost smiled back. What was the matter with him? 

“Thank you, Al Sa-her. I know you don’t need my assistance in there, but is there a signal I should look out for? In case somebody needs to carry the Arrow or something?”

“Oliver had better be able to walk,” Malcolm frowned. “No. If I’m not out of there in half an hour, run. Go where the League can’t find you.”

“But…”

“Questioning me already?”

“I will do as you command.” The boy gave him a searching look, but then went to the car. 

Malcolm shook his head. He must be going soft. Still, having a driver had its advantages.

Cautiously, he snuck back into the building. Nyssa was in for a little surprise.


End file.
